4 years (is an awfully long time)
by The Bibliophiliac
Summary: Barista AU
1. Chapter 1

John trudged through the perpetual London drizzle, ignoring the trickles of water that had managed to run under his coat and down his back in icy trails. He hugged his falling-to-pieces rucksack closer to his chest in an attempt to shield his books. The feel of paper tickling his chin reminded him of his impending military career. He was to leave in three months for basic training and a wave of dread washed over him.

"Hey!" he yelled, waving his arms at a passing taxi, for once not caring about the cost involved, it was that cold. The taxi kept driving and he ran down an alley to escape being drenched in water. He looked around, realizing he had no idea where he was.

"Sod it." he muttered, sitting down on the curb and putting his face in his hands. After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, he looked around at the dimly lit street. That was when he noticed the flickering sign of a teacup.

The café looked shabby, but it was better than the drizzle-turned-torrent he was currently standing in. He crossed over to the facebrick building with large but grubby windows and turned the handle on the door, which bore the peeling letters "221B".

He stepped inside and was enveloped by the warmth emitted by the old radiator attached to the wall. The inside of the cafe was a mishmash of overstuffed, chinze armchairs, straight-backed, ancient structures that he supposed were once called chairs and multiple mismatched, slightly lopsided tables. The customers were as mismatched as the décor, with a grey haired man scowling over a coffee in the corner and a plain woman attempting to wrestle her screaming child back into his pushchair. There was a bar with a glass case containing every kind of teacake imaginable towards the back of the cafe, barstools with their seats ripped open and stuffing exposed lining the bar's edge

Behind the bar set a petite old woman reading an Agatha Christie crime novel. John dropped his rucksack and she jumped.

"Oh, dear you startled me!" She exclaimed, smiling. Though she seemed at least seventy, her smile and the way she carried herself seemed to make the crow's feet and laughter lines in her face disappear. She hurried around the bar and held out a wrinkled hand.

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, dear. And you are?"

"John. Watson." He said, smiling.

"You poor thing, you look soaking wet!" She exclaimed. "What can I get you?"

"Um, do you have a menu?" John queried.

"Oh no, Sherlock just does what you ask for." Mrs. Hudson laughed.

"Well in that case, I'll have a bla-"

That was when the person who couldn't possibly be anyone else but Sherlock walked out of the kitchen.  
>He carried himself with the grace of a dancer who never made it but couldn't break old habits. A mop of unwieldy, dark brown hair framed his slightly extraterrestrial facial features. Above his defined cheekbones were eyes that raked from John's sodden shoes to his sandy hair. Those eyes sent a shiver down John's spine. They never seemed to be the same colour, yet remained cold and piercing.<br>Sherlock spoke, shaking John from his stupor.

"Excuse me?" John asked.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock repeated in an exasperated tone.

John froze in shock.

"Wh-what?"

Sherlock sighed as though john was a petulant child that refused to cooperate.  
>"You're a medical student but you're low on funds. You applied for the military as it is the only way you will be able to train as a doctor. Your parents are apprehensive about you leaving as your... Brother? Has left and they don't want to lose another son but want you to become a doctor. And so I ask again. Afghanistan or Iraq?"<p>

John was torn between rage and awe.

"That was... Brilliant." He breathed. "How did you get all that?"

Sherlock's cold gaze melted slightly. "So I got it all right? It was easy. There is a medical textbook and military brochure protruding from your bag. Your clothes, though well kept, are worn and there is an instep to your shoes that only comes from preferring to walk instead of waste money on taxis. You bag is covered with multiple phrases such as "Harry likes girls" all written in the same penmanship but they are faded, indicating that "Harry" is no longer around. You're brochure is not hidden which must mean your parents know about your military career. It was simple really."

John was stunned. "That was amazing. The only thing you got wrong is that Harry is my sister."

"Oh?" Sherlock frowned, "a stupid mistake."

"It was still incredible."

Sherlock's eyes softened to blue instead of hard steel. There was an infinitesimal tilt to the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, thank you, Sherlock. John, you wanted a?" laughed Mrs. Hudson. John blushed, embarrassed that he had forgotten her standing there.

"Black coffee, two sugars please." He mumbled in reply, and fled to a squashy, patchwork chair at the front of the café.

In the time Sherlock made his coffee, John pretended to be reading another military brochure, but really he was watching Sherlock. The pail, tapering fingers expertly measured out coffee into a tall cup without spilling a drop on his pristine, white dress shirt. He started to move toward John, who quickly dropped his gaze to the page before him.

As Sherlock was setting down his cup, John mumbled, "Afghanistan."

Sherlock seemed to slow momentarily, before retreating to the kitchenette behind the bar.

It wasn't surprising that Sherlock's coffee was the best he'd ever had.

He steeled himself for the cold outside before paying Mrs. Hudson, who looked at Sherlock and wicked at John suggestively.

"I'm not-" he began to say.

"Oh it's alright, dear. The next shop down is owned by _married_ ones!" she giggled.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson" John mumbled, and practically ran from the mismatched chairs and frozen eyes that had begun to thaw.


	2. Chapter 2

John returned to the café the next day. The day was as miserable as the previous one and he found himself drawn towards 221B. He told himself it was because of the coffee.

As he pushed open the creaky door and walked in, he heard the coffee-maker whir to life.

John sat down in the patchwork chair just as Sherlock walked around the bar holding his cup.

"Wh-? Actually I'm not going to ask. You probably memorized my footsteps or something." He laughed.

Sherlock winced.

"Oh my god, you didn't!"

"Did you know you favour your right leg and drag your left slightly?"

"I did not know that, thank you, Sherlock." John smiled.

Sherlock paused as though he wanted to say something, shuffled his feet and turned back to the bar.

"Want to sit?"

It came out before John realized what he was saying, but something about the fact that Sherlock practically knew his life story made John want to get to know him better.

Sherlock turned and stared at John, frowning as he tried to figure out if John was kidding or not. He seemed to decide that John was being genuine and sat rigidly in the chair across from him. John smiled at how Sherlock's graceful limbs folded into place as he sat.

Silence ensued.

John wracked his brain for something for something to say.

"So, Sherlock, why's this place called 221B? A bit unusual don't you think?"

The taller man relaxed back into his chair, obviously glad that the uneasy silence had been broken.

"When Mrs. Hudson bought the place, it was number 221 Baker Street, so she decided to name it "221 Baker" despite being idiosyncratic." He replied.

John laughed. "God, Sherlock, did you swallow a thesaurus?

He would have missed Sherlock's miniscule smile if he hadn't been looking properly.

Awkwardness over, they slipped into easy conversation, discussing anything from different types of fatal poison to Sherlock's lack of knowledge of the Solar System("I can't believe you don't know that the earth moves round the sun!"). Sherlock even tried to get Mrs. Hudson to refill John's coffee ("Not a waitress, dear!"). With each passing minute, a little bit of steel would melt from Sherlock's eyes.

It was early evening when Sherlock's phone buzzed and he leapt out of his chair, read the text and ran out of the cafe and into the downpour outside.

He stuck his sodden head back through the door and said, "Well? Aren't you coming?" He sounded irritated.

"Coming where?" John was genuinely confused.

"To see Lestrade of course!" The dark haired man exclaimed as though John was being blatantly ignorant.

Despite the fact that he had no idea what Sherlock was talking about, John found himself placing a couple of pounds on the table and throwing on his coat. He grabbed a coat off the hook at the door that could only have been Sherlock's and followed him out into the rain.

They had been walking for a while in silence before John asked, "Sherlock, who on earth Lestrade?"

"You saw him at the cafe yesterday. He's a detective inspector in the loosest of terms for Scotland Yard. He comes to me when he needs help solving cases, which is always." Sherlock had a way of making everything he said sound exasperated.

"So why does Scotland Yard ask you for help? It's not often they ask amateurs."

Sherlock snorted. "I am not an amateur, John. I'm a consulting detective."

That didn't sound much better than amateur. John walked ahead of Sherlock and turned to face him, walking backwards, the rain soaking his coat

"A consulting detective?" He laughed.

"Yes." Sherlock sniffed. "I'm the only one in the world. People come to me when the local criminals become too much to handle. Which is always."

"Obviously." He replied, shaking his head. "A consulting detective slash waiter. Are you a ballerina on the side?"

"Don't be daft John."

John laughed. "Okay then, Sherlock, what are we going to see then?"

The change in the detective was immediate.

"It's a locked room homicide! It's Christmas!" He sounded a bit too cheerful to be talking about a murder. John didn't have much time to dwell on it though, as Sherlock had hailed a cab and he was bundled inside before he realised what was happening.

The rest of the cab ride was silent with Sherlock constantly texting and John not knowing quite what to say to the possibly maniacal genius sitting next to him.

They arrived at the a scene, a two story redbrick building blocked off by police cars and yellow tape.

Sherlock hopped out of the cab.

"Come on, John!" He sang (yes sang, John couldn't believe it either). There was a notable spring in his step and an unnerving grin on his face.

Sherlock was holding up the yellow tape for John when they heard a woman say, "Freak's here."

John looked up to see a willow mixed-race woman with a cloud of black hair staring daggers at Sherlock.

"Ah, Donovan. Been borrowing Anderson's cologne again?" Sherlock smirked.

"Oh don't pretend you worked that out!' The woman spluttered.

'Of course not. And judging by the state of your knees, you washed his floors as well?"

John snorted.

The woman, Donovan, shot him a venomous look. "And who are you?"

"John, you have just made the unpleasant acquaintance of the questionable Sergeant, Sally Donovan. Donovan, John Watson. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a case to solve."

With a swish of his ridiculous coat, Sherlock swept up the stairs and into the house.

"'Scuse me." John mumbled, pushing past the Sergeant, into the house.

After climbing two flights of stairs, he arrived at the door of a room inhabited by Sherlock, Lestrade and a ratty looking man fiddling with equipment. He passed unnoticed due to the raging argument taking place inside. The fact that the three were arguing over a body made the entire seen surreal.

"You can't just bring civilians in here, Sherlock! I'm pulling enough strings just getting you here!" Lestrade shouted.

"He's a medical student! It's both of us, or none!"

"How much did ya pay him to come?" The ratty man sneered. John hadn't realised it was so easy to hate a person you hadn't even met.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street." Sherlock spat.

John couldn't help laughing. That was when they noticed him in the doorway.

"Ah, John. Take a look at the body, will you?"

"Sure, Sherlock." He sighed, walked over to the corpse. The body was of a middle-aged man, lying on his back, holding a cigarette. It was one of the ones that one rolls themselves with tobacco and paper. He had blue lips and extremities, showing signs of asphyxiation.

All the time John was inspecting the body, Sherlock whirled around the room, checking drawers, flinging documents in the air and checking behind picture frames. Every so often he would utter a little "Ah" of surprise or excitement.

"Well, there are signs of asphyxiation, but no sign of a struggle." John announced.

"Good work, John. I had already noticed but it doesn't matter." Sherlock replied, smiling.

He bent over the body and took some saliva from its mouth, and some tobacco from the cigarette. He moved to Anderson's equipment and dropped the tobacco into a solution he had been preparing. The liquid turned dark red.

"Well, that solves it." Sherlock breathed.

"Care to enlighten us, Sherlock?" asked Lestrade.

"I wouldn't want to undermine your intelligence."

Lestrade huffed. "Just tell us what happened so we can all go home."

"The tobacco leaves in his cigarette were infused with a poison that when inhaled, causes the lungs to fill with fluid and drown the victim. The poison, when placed in the solution I made earlier, causes the liquid to turn bright red."

"That doesn't tell us who killed him." Anderson sniffed.

Sherlock grinned maniacally and held up a cell phone and multiple pieces of paper. "This man here is Mr. Sebastian Moran." Sherlock dropped a passport onto the table. "He defaulted on his payments on a his payments to the Black Lotus Bank, who are notorious for seeking out any individual who do not pay their bank charges, due to the fact that they are actually a criminal support unit specialising in securing stolen merchandise for an exorbitant cost." Another document dropped to the table, showing a statement containing all of Mr. Moran's defaulted payments. Then Sherlock held up the cell phone. "Recorded on this cellular device are transactions that took place between Mr. Moran and the Black Lotus Bank. The man you're looking for is the owner, Mr. James Moriarty, as indicated by every document Anderson failed to uncover. Thank you, gentleman, and goodnight." With that, Sherlock swept out of the room and down the stairs, leaving a spluttering Anderson, Lestrade furiously taking notes, and John, who followed after the detective.

"Sherlock!" He called, chasing after the taller man.

Sherlock spun around.

"That was... That was amazing." John breathed.

Sherlock smiled. Not a crazed grin like the one he had been sporting throughout the investigation, but a gentle angling of his lips, and a softening of the hardness in his eyes.

"All I did was observe, John. You could do it too, if you looked at the world more carefully."

"No, Sherlock, I couldn't." John said, walking over to the dark haired man. "Only you."

Sherlock looked away.

Lestrade walked over to the pair. "Well, Sherlock, we'll need you over at the station to get the whole explanation again. It was good to meet you, John." He said, shaking John's hand.

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock said, climbing into the squad car that had pulled up.

"See you, Sherlock."

The ever present drizzle was not enough to dissuade John from walking the rest of the way home to his apartment, grateful for the time to ponder on the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

The cafe became a second home to John. He got to know Mrs. Hudson, who liked John Steinbeck and biscuits and insisted that John and Sherlock were together. He was introduced to the various customers, a young pathologist named Molly who was obviously infatuated with a certain high functioning sociopath (not psychopath, do your research) and, most unfortunately, a podgy man in his early thirties named Mycroft. Sherlock claimed that Mycroft was his brother and the most dangerous man John would ever meet.

John would spend from the moment he arrived until closing time with Sherlock. He helped solve cases and Sherlock helped him study for finals. John learned that Sherlock had an affinity for dance, which made his pass about being a "consulting detective, ballerina on the side" all the more plausible. Their lives became a little more entwined, with each passing second they became a little more inseparable. John was fascinated by the detective and Sherlock obviously found the doctor (in training) equally as intriguing. John couldn't understand why someone as spectacular as Sherlock Holmes could possibly find him interesting, let alone the fact that John wanted to spend his life repairing bodies while Sherlock wanted to take them apart (dead ones, John hoped). They were two ends of an opposing scale, yet, against all odds and Donovan's constant scoffing, they fit. Being with Sherlock was like being able to breath after spending your life underwater.

Three months became two, which quickly turned into one. John had succeeded in keeping his 4 year service off his mind until Sherlock decided to bring it up. Damn him.

"How long?" He asked, not meeting John's eyes.

John didn't have to ask to know what he was talking about. Suddenly it seemed as though the room no longer contained oxygen.

"Two weeks." He croaked.

Sherlock stiffened slightly.

"Sherlock?"

"Well then, I'll take that." he picked up John's unfinished coffee and started to stand.

"Wait!" John grabbed his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Let go, John." Sherlock spat.

"No, Sherlock. What is it? We're friends. You can tell me."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I don't have friends." He wrenched his arm from John's grasp. "I said let me go." With that, he stormed into the kitchenette.

It felt as though one of Sherlock's murderers had stuck a knife in between John's ribs

He left money on the table and walked into the street, wishing there was rain to hide the angry tears clouding his vision.

John didn't return the next day.

Or the next.

Or even the next.

Thinking of the cafe felt like a hand closing around his trachea, squeezing out the tears he didn't want to cry. Life without Sherlock wasn't worth living.

Two weeks later, he faced the familiar flickering sign and peeling-paint door for what felt like the first time in forever. The rain had been replaced by and icy wind that stung John's cheeks and tugged at his coat.

He pushed open the door and walked into a steel wall.

"John." The wall murmured.

He sat down in his usual chair. Sherlock began brewing his coffee. He walked over, set it down, hesitated and turned away. It was painfully reminiscent of the first time John had asked him to sit and he wasn't having it. He stood up, his action knocking the coffee over.

"Listen here, you smarmy bastard, you can't just spend months with someone and then run away." John's voice shook with all the hurt he had felt since that terrible day. "Just... why?"

Sherlock turned to face John, watery blue meeting melting metal.

"I meant what I said. I don't have friends, John."

John's vision blurred and he clenched his jaw. It was not the answer he had wanted, but definitely the one he had expected.

"That's what I thought." He choked, running out of the creaky door. He tried to hail a passing taxi but was ignored and given another painful reminder of the first time he had visited 221B. He sat down on the familiar curb, head in hands once again, shoulders shaking.

"I've been crying far too much lately." He chuckled, scrubbing at his eyes.

He heard the door open and close. Quick, even footsteps approached before someone sat next to him.

"I only have one."

John looked up. Realisation hit him. He was the one friend of Sherlock Holmes. "That doesn't answer my question."

"You leave tomorrow"

"I know."

"I don't want you to leave, John."

John hung his head, the air heavy with the implications of what Sherlock had just said. "I don't want to go."

"Please come back."

John didn't know whether he meant back into the cafe or from war.

"I'll try." He meant it.

Sherlock stood up and offered John a hand. He took it and they walked inside together, sitting down at their customary table. They slipped back into old habits, talking as though nothing had changed. Neither said anything about catching the other staring, or the fact that they moved closer until their knees were bumping and their elbows touched. Never had John wanted to freeze time more than in those moments. The unfortunate thing about time is that it is a relative concept that waits for no man and suddenly it was closing time. John's throat constricted. He stood outside in the cold autumn air as Sherlock locked the cafe.

"I guess this is goodbye." John said, avoiding Sherlock's eyes, afraid of what he would find there.

"I find I don't know what to say."

"Me neither."

"4 years is an awfully long time, John."

"It'll be over before we know it." John knew it wasn't true.

Sherlock held out his hand. John started to shake it before pulling Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock froze and then relaxed into the arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around John's waist and seemed to be trying to pull John inside of him. He was shaking. They stood like that for what felt like an aeon, John's face pressed into the taller man's shoulder, Sherlock's chin resting on the top of his sandy head. When John finally pulled away he saw that the last of the steel had melted into the tears that streaked Sherlock's cheeks.

"Goodbye, John." It was whispered.

John turned away and walked home, away from the coffee and into the desert.


	4. Chapter 4

Letters to 221B

11/21/10

Sherlock,

I hope you didn't think you could get away with four years not talking to me you git! Do you know how long it took to get your address? A surprisingly short time considering I sent this to the café but that is BESIDES THE POINT. The point being, I still do not know where you live.

I assume you want to know how I am? You probably don't but it is considered a social nicety to ask so I'm doing that part for you . I am good! Thank you for asking! The food here is rubbish and the coffee is worse although that is partially your fault. Damn you and you're excellent coffee. Basics are bloody hard but nobody wants to hear about that. Everyone is relatively nice, I say relatively because compared to you they are all absolutely wonderful. I say that with love, Sherlock, so don't go into a sulk ;). My one mate from Uni is here, Mike Stamford. Says he knows you but won't say why. Was he part of the exploding lab debacle? Wouldn't surprise me.

Say hello to Mrs. Hudson, will you? And Molly. And Greg.

John

30/11/10

Dear John,

Firstly, would it kill you to proofread? I am NOT coffee and I believe you meant your*. Secondly, who is Greg? If you mean Lestrade, his name is Gavin. Or is it Geoff? No matter, his name is not Greg. Mrs. Hudson is well and Molly keeps asking me about going out for coffee? I assume you know what that is supposed to mean because I don't.

Stamford was a part of the lab explosion. He managed to flee before the Dean arrived and expelled me. What on earth is he doing in the army? He doesn't have financial problems and frankly would blow himself up trying to handle a rifle.

Lastly, my coffee is superior, I am glad that you have realised that.

Sherlock

(P.S. I live in the flat above 221B , so continue to send your letters there.)

05/12/10

Sherlock,

OH MY GOD YOU DID NOT SEND ME A DEAR JOHN LETTER! Just say John or something oh my god.

Sherlock. His name is Greg. Greg. Not Geoff or Gavin or Gilbert. Greg. You've known him for four years how do you not know his name? Also, I think Molly likes you. Actually no, she likes you. Ask her out. Do you have a girlfriend? Considering I didn't know where you lived it's quite possible.

I only have five weeks of Basics left. Oh my god I still have five weeks. You obviously can't see me but I'm slamming my head against the desk. It's not good Sherlock. Did I make the right decision by coming here? It doesn't seem like it.

Do you have any new cases? Locked room poisonings? Lord knows I need to hear about that ;).

Stamford says hello.

Again, tell Mrs. Hudson I say hi and LEARN GREG'S NAME YOU BASTARD!

Regards,

John

12/12/10

John,

Are you sure it's Greg? Because I called him Greg today and he walked away looking startled.

No, John, I do not have a girlfriend. Not really my area. Also, I will not ask Molly out because she has a new boyfriend. Jim apparently. Poor girl doesn't realise that he's gay.

On another note, Mycroft is being insufferable. He says I should go back to University so I sent him some of Mrs. Hudson's cake. He's on another one of his "diets".

Basics will be fine John, I have researched it and, coupled with my knowledge of the body (albeit, knowledge of primarily dead bodies), I have determined that you will most probably survive the next five weeks. It'll be alright.

Regards

Sherlock

(P.S. I enclosed photo's of the last case. It was a strangulation. It was easy, the bruises on the neck were indicative of a piece of hosepipe.)

25/12/10

Sherlock,

MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU BASTARD! I hope you wished Mrs. Hudson Merry Christmas, it's another annoying social nicety.

So, no girlfriend. Boyfriend then? Which is fine by the way.

I really don't want to know how you know what bruises from a piece of hosepipe look like. Sometimes you really creep me out Sherlock. Also, stop taunting Mycroft! He will cancel the shipments of coffee beans into England and then what will you do?

So Molly's boyfriend is gay? I hope you didn't tell her. You probably did. Oh my god I would have loved to have heard that conversation! Poor girl though.

Oh guess what? I found out that when we're in Afghanistan I'll be able to use a phone so I can call you! That is, if you want me to call you. Thanks for the reassurance that I'm not going to die here Sherlock, it was v_e_r_y_ h_e_l_p_f_u_l (that is how you write sarcastically). Really though, thank you.

I have to go now, we're having Christmas feast, and by that I mean food that is slightly more edible than normal.

Regards,

John

(P.S. Lestrade probably looked shocked because you NEVER CALL HIM HIS ACTUAL NAME! You really are stupid sometimes, you know?)

30/12/10

John,

I know it's fine.

I would indeed enjoy talking to you on the phone, I have so many cases to tell you about that are to tedious to write down and I'm also not supposed to be allowed access too many of them, Lestrade is just to incompetent to solve them himself.

Molly's boyfriend dumped her. Something about being made to watch glee. Not really a loss. He was gay after all, it never would have worked out what with different sexual orientations and all.

I did in fact wish Mrs. Hudson merry Christmas, I am not that obtuse, John.

Mycroft did stop the import of coffee into Britain until I promise not to send him cakes while he is on a diet. He's an idiot.

I'm glad it helped, John.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

(P.S. I refuse to believe his name is Greg, Lestrade will suffice.)

4/01/11

Sherlock,

6 DAYS OF BASICS LEFT OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IT'S ALMOST OVER!

_So you_'_re unattached_. _Like me_. Fine. Good.

Poor Molly! And anyway, what do you know about relationships? It could have worked. Although, I understand the glee thing. That's stretching it a bit far.

I am sure you have m_a_n_y_ c_a_s_e_s _t_o _t_e_l_l _m_e _a_b_o_u_t_. How have you been dealing without my nonexistent expertise? Terribly I bet. You just don't know how to deal with people. I would love to hear about your cases, Sherlock.

Anyway, Sherlock, looking forward to actually hearing from you in Afghanistan.

Sincerely

John

6/01/11

John,

I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for anything at the moment.

I am so glad to see you have almost survived basics. While you could still die, it is comforting to know that you haven't.

I am in the middle of the most intriguing case involving a certain ex-boyfriend.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

10/01/11

SHERLOCK I AM FINISHED OH MY GOD THIS IS SO EXCITING I AM DONE I'M ACTUALLY DONE NO MORE BASICS OH MY GOD!

I wasn't asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine.

I'll call you as soon as possible

John

15/01/11

John: Sherlock?

Sherlock: John!

John: Oh my god, Sherlock!

Sherlock: John, Jim was a murderer.

John: Wait, slow down, who's Jim?

Sherlock: Molly's boyfriend, remember? He's been involved in a series of serial murders! I haven't ironed everything out yet but I'm in the process of proving it.

John: Oh god, does Molly know?

Sherlock: Yes, she's quite shaken.

John: Well of course she is you idiot! Her ex-boyfriend's a serial killer.

Sherlock: Stop laughing.

John: You really are an idiot, you know that right?

Sherlock: …

John: You can huff all you want, it's true.

Sherlock: Who is that shouting in the background?

John: It's the guys in my barracks, they're a bit loud.

Sherlock: You don't say?

John: Ooh, sassy Sherlock, I'm impressed.

Sherlock: I'm insulted.

John: I don't care what Anderson says, you are hilarious, Sherlock. I have to go. Say hello to Mrs. Hudson and give Molly a hug from me. Actually you won't. Nevermind.

Sherlock: Goodbye, Mr. Watson.

John: Sherlock?

Sherlock: John.

John: I've missed you.

Sherlock: You too.

John: Bye, Sherlock.

Sherlock: Goodbye.

_Click_

22/02/11

Sherlock: Hello?

John: SHERLOCK!

Sherlock: John! How are you? It's been over a month!

John: I know, I'm so sorry. We've been out of the barracks way more often than I thought. I probably won't be able to call as often as I thought.

Sherlock: That's alright, just let me know that you're still alive.

John: I will, Sherlock and I promise not to die.

Sherlock: That doesn't matter to the people shooting at you.

John: I'll be fine.

Sherlock: Of course.

John: Did you finish that case?

Sherlock: The Moriarty one? Yes. I was right, as always.

John: …

Sherlock: Stop laughing! I'm always right!

John: No, Sherlock, you're really not.

Sherlock: Says you.

John: Yes, says me.

Sherlock: John.

John: Yes, Sherlock?

Sherlock: Be careful.

John: I will.

Sherlock: Goodbye.

John: God, I really have missed you, Sherlock.

Sherlock: Of course, John. Goodbye.

_Click_

01/04/11

Sherlock,

I'm still alright. It's a lot harder here than I expected. There are so many people, Sherlock. So many bodies. I can't save all of them and it hurts.

I'll be able to call on Easter so stay by the phone.

Love John

10/04/11

John,

I, again, find I don't know what to say. You will be fine, John. It's all going to be fine. Just, try to let me know on a monthly basis that you're still alive.

Love Sherlock

24/04/11

John: SHERLOCK!

Sherlock: John!

John: HAPPY EASTER!

Sherlock: Happy Easter, John.

John: How are you?

Sherlock: I am fine. I believe the appropriate response is, and you?

John: I'm great, Sherlock.

Sherlock: How are you really?

John: Still good. I'm managing.

Sherlock: You'll be okay.

John: God, I can't talk about this, I'll cry. How's the shop?

Sherlock: It's going well. Mrs. Hudson has a new collection of classics to read, Mycroft has allowed coffee into Britain, etc.

John: And Molly? And Lestrade?

Sherlock: Molly has a new boyfriend, Dimmock, who is not gay so that is helpful. Lestrade's wife was cheating on him and they got divorced.

John: What? Is he okay?

Sherlock: Yes. He didn't talk to me for about 2 weeks after, though.

John: What? Why?

Sherlock: I may have had something to do with finding out about her cheating…

John: …

Sherlock: It isn't funny, John, I didn't have a case for 2 weeks.

John: Sherlock, you can't just tell people their wives are cheating on them.

Sherlock: Why not?

John: You just can't.

Sherlock: Not good?

John: Bit not good, yeah.

Sherlock: I'll keep that in mind.

John: I've only got a minute left, I have to go.

Sherlock: John?

John: Yeah?

Sherlock: I've missed you too.

John: …

Sherlock: John?

John: You can't say stuff like that, Sherlock, it makes normal people emotional.

Sherlock: Call soon.

John: Goodbye, Sherlock.

_Click_

01/06/11

Sherlock,

I know it's been a month and you must be worried but I'm still fine. It's just hard. I'll call you as soon as I can.

Love John

05/07/11

Sherlock: Hello?

John: It's me.

Sherlock: John!

John: …

Sherlock: Why are you laughing?

John: You can be quite adorable sometimes.

Sherlock: …

John: A compliment, Sherlock, it's a compliment.

Sherlock: I hardly think so!

John: Of course you don't. How are you?

Sherlock: Alright, I suppose. Nothing to complain about. And you, John? You've been gone a while.

John: I know, I just… I couldn't bring myself to write and I didn't have access to a phone. There are so many people to help and so many of them die. Many of them recover almost fully but die because they've lost the will to live. I don't want to end up like that.

Sherlock: It'll be fine.

John: No, Sherlock, it won't be fine! Have you been here? Have you had men die in your arms because you couldn't save them? Have you seen what a war looks like?

Sherlock: No, I haven't, but I can't tell you it'll get worse, can I? And I can't say it'll get better. It just is. You just have to get through it.

John: …

Sherlock: John?

John: I don't want to be here, Sherlock. Why did I choose the military of all places. How could I have been that stupid?

Sherlock: You weren't stupid, John, it was the only option.

John: It shouldn't have to be.

Sherlock: Just stay alive.

John: "Staying alive". It's so boring, isn't it? Just… staying. I have to go, Sherlock. I wish you were here. Actually, no I don't. I wouldn't wish this upon my worst enemy.

Sherlock: I'll tell everyone you say hello.

John: Goodbye, Sherlock.

Sherlock: Goodbye.

_Click_

30/08/11

Sherlock,

Things are a little better. There aren't as many casualties as usual. Or maybe I'm just getting used to it. Send me some more murders, I need a distraction.

Love John

05/09/11

John,

You're an army doctor, I'm sure you've seen far too many violent deaths. I enclosed my latest case about a taxi driver with a murderous disposition, although most people seem to have a murderous disposition if provoked enough.

Love Sherlock

03/10/11

Sherlock,

I really hope you haven't been testing people to see how much you can annoy them before they murder you. If I have to stay alive, you do to.

Love John

13/11/11

John: Sherlock?

Sherlock: JOHN!

John: SHERLOCK!

Sherlock: It's been 4 months!

John: I know, I'm sorry.

Sherlock: 4 months!

John: Will you forgive me if I tell you I get leave next April?

Sherlock: Possibly.

John: It's almost Christmas, Sherlock!

Sherlock: It's November.

John: It's still almost Christmas!

Sherlock: No, John, it is still November.

John: You're one of those people that grumbles that it isn't even December yet, aren't you.

Sherlock: No, I'm one of those people that grumbles until it's actually Christmas.

John: Wow, the esteemed Sherlock Holmes admits he's a grumbler. I need that in writing.

Sherlock: Don't be daft.

John: …

Sherlock: You're an idiot. Stop laughing.

John: I'll stop laughing if you stop sulking.

Sherlock: I don't sulk!

John: Of course you don't. I suppose you'll be wanting a nice, locked-room murder for Christmas?

Sherlock: You say that like it's a bad thing.

John: It is a bad thing, Sherlock! Murder is a bad thing.

Sherlock: Bit not good?

John: Yeah.

Sherlock: Lestrade has finally gotten over is divorce.

John: Oh?

Sherlock: And he met my brother.

John: Why is that bad?

Sherlock: Lestrade says he won't give me anymore cases if I keep sending Mycroft cake.

John: You're still doing that? Sherlock, you are a bigger idiot than I am. Why does he even open the packages if he knows they're from you?

Sherlock: I haven't exactly been sending them to him anymore.

John: What have you done now?

Sherlock: Oh I just leave them for him in unexpected places.

John: You are the worst brother.

Sherlock: It's hilarious.

John: I have to go.

Sherlock: How long do you have.

John: A minute. 59 seconds. 58. 57. 56.

Sherlock: Please stay.

John: I'm not going anywhere.

Sherlock: …

John: 30 seconds.

Sherlock: I miss you.

John: I miss you too.

Sherlock: …

John: …

Sherlock: How long?

John: 10 seconds.

Sherlock: Is an awfully short time.

John: Goodbye, Sherlock.

Sherlock: John?

_Click_

Sherlock: John?

Sherlock: Goodbye, John.

25/12/11

John,

Seeings as you love Christmas so much, Merry Christmas.

Love Sherlock

10/01/12

John,

I understand that it's hard for you to write but please just let me know whether or not you're still alive.

Love Sherlock

12/02/12

John,

Mrs. Hudson is getting worried. I'm getting worried.

Love Sherlock

13/02/12

Sherlock: Hello?

Mike: Is this Sherlock Holmes?

Sherlock: Yes…

Mike: It's Mike Stamford. John's mate. I blew up the science building with you.

Sherlock: Is John alright? What's happened?

Mike: He's fine, it's just…

Sherlock: It's just what?

Mike: He got shot.

Sherlock: …

Mike: He's going to be fine, though. They're sending him off to St. Bart's in London now. You'll be able to see him.

Sherlock: …

Mike: He's going to be fine, Sherlock. I saw your letters to him. He's been away for the last three months, that's why they weren't delivered. But he's alive, Sherlock. Probably won't be allowed back now after that shot either.

Sherlock: Thank you, Mike.

Mike: My pleasure.

Sherlock: Goodbye.

Mike: Goodbye, Sherlock.

_Click_


End file.
